


realize the damage (i'm in too deep)

by baecobz



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Crimes & Criminals, Multi, Police, lapslock, might be kinda choppy and awkwardly written oops, slight references to mature content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baecobz/pseuds/baecobz
Summary: mark may know how to pick locks and cover his tracks, but he should probably work on keeping a better eye on his heart instead.





	realize the damage (i'm in too deep)

**Author's Note:**

> i have literally.. no idea how police work functions,, all of this is based solely off of brooklyn99  
> prompt 56: character a and b are cops interrogating character c and are doing the good cop/bad cop routine  
> also the title is from tyler the creator's "48", which i also had on loop for a lot of this fjdkfj  
> please enjoy!!! <33

when mark wakes up, it’s two pm on a friday afternoon and there are sirens flashing outside his window.

he also really, _really_ needs to pee.

it only take a few minutes for him to do his business, half awake and barely functional. he puts on some music, too, to try and encourage himself to get a move on with his day. when he turns the faucet off, he takes a moment to stare back into the mirror and breathe with the beats of the song.

there’s also some incessant knocking at the front door which, _oof_. his apartment is modest at best, the floor still a wasteland of old boxes, and the door is no better-- it rattles with every knock, and mark only lasts a few moments of scrambling towards it before he yells out, “i’m coming!”

the knocking stops just in time for mark to shuffle over and open the door, desperately hoping that whoever’s on the other side of the door doesn’t care about his bedhead or chip-stained sweatpants.

the door swings open to reveal two police officers attractive enough to look like they’re straight out of a porno. a really bad, really high budget porno.

what the fuck goes on in mark’s brain?

(he can’t really find any other way to justify the two objectively beautiful guys showing up to his doorstep in the middle of the week. it’s not like he sees officers often, not as a fairly ordinary looking korean guy that passes under the radar. he doesn’t usually do anything that seems even remotely illegal, and when he does, he’s always careful enough to make sure that he doesn’t get caught. for all he knows, though, the officers aren’t even here for anything related to him personally. so-- nothing to worry about)

“are you mark lee?” tall, hunky officer asks. he’s _massive_ , with arms that look like they could choke mark just by resting on his neck. it’s a weird visual, sure, but it works.

“uh, yeah?”

“i’m officer wong, and this is my partner, officer lee. we’re investigating leads for a recent robbery, and we’d like to take you in for questioning. do you have some time to come into the station with us?”

mark eyes the two officers in all their illegally handsome glory and doesn’t even hesitate before nodding. saying _no_ was never an option, anyways. it never is with cops.

“i’m just gonna-- i’ll, uh, go grab my phone and stuff, and then i’m good to go. just one sec, sorry.”

he lets the door stay propped open, held in place with the help of an old mixing bowl mark bought from a thrift store (and never even brought to his kitchen).

the smaller of the two officers watches on in amusement as mark scurries around his apartment, eyes burning trails against mark’s skin. he really should’ve put on proper pants or something before opening the door.

  


he grabs a pair of sweatpants from atop his desk chair, (half covered by a dozen other articles of clothing-- all of which go tumbling to the ground in half a second,) barely sparing a moment to do his typical sniff-and-check before tugging it on. his leg gets stuck halfway, almost painfully so, and it forces him through a whole minute of scrambling and knocking into things before he makes it back into the foyer.

(well. maybe not exactly a foyer, because it’s more of an awkward gap between the front door and the stairs, but. mark likes to add some spice to his descriptions to make him feel better about his current living situation, and what of it?)

when he shuffles back within eyesight of the two officers, he comes face to face with two barely concealed grins-- it’s comforting if only for the fact that it means that they aren’t taking him too seriously. mark _really_ doesn’t to deal with more condescending, racist cops. not this weekend, at least.

only one of the two cops bothers to even try and offer mark a polite smile, still clearly forced, before mark steps outside.

he makes sure to lock the door behind him; especially in a neighborhood like his, where crime rates always seem to err on the side of extreme, he can’t risk losing the few possessions he has.

that, or having someone stumble across any of the fun little goodies he had treated himself to the other day.

the car ride is, to put it nicely, awkward. mark is already bad enough when it comes to uber drivers or taxi rides, but being in the backseat while a couple of cops keep staring back at you through the rear view mirror? it’s a lot.

even just making conversation at work can be a struggle sometimes, but mark is determined to make do with the situation.

“how are you guys doing? having a nice day?”

the taller (and ridiculously muscular) officer snorts back in response. mark genuinely can’t tell if the guy is actually amused, or if he’s just derisively mocking mark inside his head. it’s a hit or miss.

“so, uh,” mark tries again, “nice weather, huh?”

“it’s snowing.” the shorter of the two officers deadpans back.

“snow is nice, though.”

“not if you’re driving. or if you’re homeless. or just in a living situation that doesn’t provide proper heat.”

mark grimaces and resolutely keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the ride.

when they pull up to the station, mark decides to keep that rule; all he does is nod when they ask him questions, or shake his head when they ask if he wants a lawyer present.

(lawyers mean paychecks, and paychecks mean shelling out more money than mark has - or rather, wants to offer.)

they bring him over to the interrogation room, and mark plays up his reaction when he steps in; it’s cold and dark, barely lit by the lone, flickering bulb swinging above the table, and mark wonders why they haven’t changed it all over the past fifteen years.

although, maybe the last time he’d seen it, it had been a different light bulb-- and maybe they had changed it once or twice since then, but it’s returned back to that glinting state it’s destined to have.

mark also considers the fact that he’s completely forgotten what the stale room really used to look like over a dozen years ago, and that all of his memories of what it used to look like have just been twisted and distorted to fix the mess of a room he’s stuck in now.

the wonder in that statement alone must translate genuinely across his face, because the smaller of the two officers (still pretty tall, mark notices finally, stares a moment too long at the expanse of leg) pats him on the back just a beat too hard.

“this isn’t a prison cell.” he sing songs, the lilt in his voice as mesmerizing as it is terrifying. “don’t shit your pants just yet, pretty boy.”

“‘m not the pretty one here.” mark mumbles. he doesn’t say it very loud, too aware of the size of the room and how perceptive cops -- and these cops in particular -- tend to be, but the officer blushes anyways.

it’s cute.

they ask him more questions, most of which he zones out during and only pretends to pay attention to. he must do a good job, because the officers keep exchanging amused looks

“were you aware of the incident that took place a few blocks from your previous place of employment?”

mark adjusts in his seat, awkward, and sighs.

“you mean the robbery at the jewelry store? yeah, it was all over the news. made me glad i quit when i did, or else my shift might’ve made me run into whoever it was that robbed the place.”

the two officers stare back, quiet, and mark huffs.

“listen, that was before the semester ended, so i always had to take late night shifts. i probably would’ve been walking home around when that shit happened-- and i can’t afford to pay for any hospital bills, alright?”

the officers look at each other, unspeakably knowing, before finally turning back to face him.

“so you realize that the timing matches up really well.”

mark’s heart thrums against his chest, vibrantly wild.

it hurts in a nostalgically wonderful way. the corners of his lips go up by reflex.

“i mean, yeah, but you guys know i wasn’t involved. right?” the only response he gets for that is a pair of unimpressed frowns and uncertain responses. mark categorizes them in his head to the best of his ability, desperate to sort them out for the rest of the day’s discussion.

if he wants to get out of this safe, after all, he’s going to have to understand the people he’s dealing with.

silence permeates every ridiculous corner of the room, including each dusty section of shadows and cobwebs. mark wonders when the _fuck_ they last cleaned this room.

“listen,” tall, hunky officer sighs out, “we’re just running through a list of potential suspects or witnesses. you happen to be on that list. any questions so far?”

“i just want to start off by saying i’m innocent.” mark leans back in his chair, tired eyes tracking the careful movements of the two officers in front of him. they both look young in a way, naivety and trust seeping into their movements as they take in mark’s words. good. “like, i swear.”

the shorter of the two officers, meeting mark’s eyes with a half-covered smile, rolls his eyes.

“it’s cute that you think i care. let’s just get started on our little interview, okay? we’ll decide if you’re innocent or not later.”

mark blinks.

“interview.” he repeats numbly. the man nods. “my dude, this is clearly an interrogation.”

“tomato, potato,” the other officer laughs, happily ignoring the looks both mark and the shorter officer give him, “let’s just get started.” mark can’t help the pout that makes its way across his face; it doesn’t take much to figure out that it’s going to be a long day.

the chair is uncomfortable, cold and hard even as mark shifts around in his spot. he knows that he’s not meant to feel safe here, not supposed to get any semblance of peace as he’s stared down with lights and narrowed eyes. even so, there’s a shift of the air that makes mark think _okay, this is it. it’s going to be good_.

“let’s just start simple. where were you on thursday night?” the smaller of the two men leans forward, eyes suddenly sharper than mark had remembered them being earlier. it’s a good look on him.

“i went to my friend’s dance recital until, like, nine in the evening, and then i went grocery shopping.”

“until when?”

“i wanna say around eleven or so?”

“it took you two hours to get groceries?”

mark blinks back, and then in the most quiet, defeated voice, mumbles, “i couldn’t find the dairy section.”

the shorter officer fucking _loses it_ at that, hand wrapped tight around the other officer’s arm as he dissolves into giggles. he’s got a nice laugh, mark notes, and he wonders how many more times he’ll be able to hear it before the night is up. he hopes at least a few more times.

the taller of the two officers clearly forces his smile down, instead just sighing in response, moving forward so he can sit on the corner of the table and face mark. there’s a tiny mole right under the corner of the officer’s lip, and mark has a ridiculous thought about what it’d be like to kiss it.

he slaps himself mentally, sighing, because that’s _mad_ gay mark, what the _fuck_?

“that’s precious, but also not very likely. so how about you try again, and this time you give us the real answer? quickly, please, before i start to get impatient.”

mark has to fight back a laugh at that, if only because there’s a newfound layer of intensity that the taller officer only seems to dredge up on rare occasions. he likes it, though, likes the way the officer seems to fill up his uniform with a confidence that had previously been left at his desk.

“i’m telling you the truth, officer. i swear. grocery stores are, like, especially liminal for me at night, so i get distracted easily and lose track of time. no funny business.” they continue to stare back at him with what’s probably the world’s most unimpressed set of stares. he can feel himself deflate. “seriously.”

“we’re just trying to establish some sort of alibi for you, sir. is it sir? i assumed it was because of your license, but i don’t want to assume.”

“i-- yeah, it’s sir. and i know, but i’m being serious. there’s not much i can tell you.” mark rests his chin on his hand, groaning. “i don’t want to waste your time, really, and i swear i just wanna get back to bed and get this all over with, but i don’t know what else i can say. can’t you guys just like, i don’t know, check some security footage or something? use that to verify where i was?”

“the footage we got is pretty ambiguous, and there are a lot of blind spots that the owner didn’t pick up on until more recently, so no, sorry.”

“don’t apologize, man.” the smaller officer finally speaks up, grumbling even as he keeps a careful eye on mark. interesting. “this guy’s clearly just trying to cause more trouble for us. no respect for officers-- which i don’t blame him for, but it’s annoying when i’m one of them. so, mister lee, how about you get your head out of your ass and start cooperating?”

“ _hey_ ,” the taller officer whispers, clearly unaware of how loud his voice is even as he tugs on the other officer’s shoulder, “i’m supposed to be the bad cop.” mark tries not to laugh. the officer seems genuinely distraught at the change of plans, but his coworker seems indifferent as ever when he shrugs it off.

“yeah, but you suck at it. just keep playing nice.”

“ _hey_ ,” the officer honest to god _whines_ , saccharine enough that the other cop seems to sag a little in response. “hyuckie, c’mon, that’s not fair. it’s my turn.”

 _hyuckie_ , mark mouths to himself, enjoying the cuteness added to the man’s frustration.

“yukhei, i swear, if you start going soft on this guy--”

“i _won’t_ \--”

“i’m not letting you be bad cop for, like, a month.”

“but a month is _so long_.”

“that’s the point.”

“fuck you.”

“not until you learn how to be a proper bad cop.”

“what does that even _mean_? all cops are bad cops. besides, even aside from that, i’m a great bad cop. i’m all tough and intimidating and--”

“and _sweet_ and _understanding_ and _patient_ , yeah, i know.”

“hyuck--”

“yukhei, this is your last chance. stop going soft.”

there’s a moment where the two officers stare at each other, cold and stifling in a way that mark isn’t used to handling-- he clears his throat, albeit a bit hesitantly, and donghyuck turns to give him a beautifully plastered smile.

“sorry, please continue.”

“so wait, let me get this straight--”

“you’re not.”

“this isn’t 2014 tumblr, please don’t make that joke.”

“you’re just being grumpy; let me have my fun.”

“after you let me do my job, maybe.”

they both sigh simultaneously, which is a funny enough sight that mark can’t even stop himself from laughing a little. the pair are ridiculous with all of their banter and odd comments, and he has to wonder what it’d be like if there was some sort of buddy-cop film or tv show centered around them. it’d be interesting, probably, and he’d try to watch it if it were a real thing.

“this is pretty ridiculous.” mark admits. “i literally had nothing to do with the-- the _incident_ by the jewelry store. you can check the security cameras again, waste your time sifting through the same footage or whatever. i’m sure something will turn up, or you’ll, like, notice something new this time. can i just go home? i’m innocent.”

“this is just part of regulation.” donghyuck sighs out. he looks frustrated, a little, but there’s a softness to his expression that makes it feel like it’s not directed at mark. “it’s not something personal. we’re just required to go through a list of potential suspects or witnesses. the footage was-- we already told you, it gave us a ballpark of people to work with, but not much. your innocence is something we’re left to determine later.”

he sighs out some sort of response-- a better excuse, maybe, or something that’ll hopefully get him off the hook. if the past twenty eight years have taught him anything, it’s that his best bet at getting out of situations like this lies in his ability to shut down his brain and just fucking _wing it_.

mark watches as the two officers exchange even more distressed expressions in response to that; he’s not sure if he said the right thing, if the choices he’s made so far will end up leading to freedom or prison.

or some sort of in between. mark’s not really sure if some sort of in between consequence even exists for this sort of thing, but he sure hopes so.

quietly, the taller officer, yukhei, pulls the other cop aside. their voices may be hushed, but they still travel easily across the few square feet between them. it’s comforting, in a weird way, to feel so blatantly and long lastingly in the know. “if you can’t finish this up quickly, you have to do my paperwork. you _know_ i have a dinner reservation tonight. it’s my mom’s _birthday_ , hyuck.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. you mentioned it earlier.” there’s a moment of pause as donghyuck shrugs it off and leans over the table to face mark straight on. the shorter distance between them seems to add to the intensity in his face, intoxicatingly unusual and beautiful all at once.

that’s also extremely gay. good job, mark.

“actually, can i cut in for a sec real quick?” yukhei steps forward. he’s folding a folder now, one that he had probably picked up off the table where mark had ignored it. it looks important, too, which is never a good sign.

“go for it.” donghyuck steps back arms crossed, and mark gulps.

“would you like to explain your record?” yukhei asks. his voice is hard, tougher than it was earlier. when he looks at mark from over the edge of the file, it feels like they’ve taken a dozen steps back.

“record?” mark echoes back. his voice sounds hollow, fake even to his own ears, and yukhei’s unimpressed stare seems to agree. mark clears his throat, sighs, and forces a deep breath. if he doesn’t keep his cool now, there’s no way he’s making it out of this mess unscathed.

he rubs his wrists under the table, suddenly thankful that they hadn’t opted to cuff him. sometimes compliance really does pay off, he supposes. he’s not sure how long he would’ve been able to keep it together if his wrists had been cuffed the whole time; all it would’ve done would bring back a whole world full of memories and covered up commemorations.

“your record. history of petty crimes and thefts, nearly a dozen, all taking place when you were a minor. then you suddenly decide to turn over a new leaf, get your act together, and keep your head down. decent grades at school, no name college, diploma barely good enough to land you a job at a local psychiatry practice. but you only make it a few years there, don’t you? because it’s not too long then until the whole practice goes under, filing bankruptcy, and you wind up in some shitty ass apartment with a shitty ass job that barely pays the rent. but here you are now-- twenty eight years old and a prime suspect in a million dollar robbery.”

“prime suspect?” mark chokes out.

“thanks to your record.” donghyuck finally adds. he looks reluctantly smug from his spot in the corner, all too much like the cat who caught the canary-- except perhaps the two used to be friends of some sort, because donghyuck’s eyes are sad and disappointed in a way mark thought he’d never have to see from someone again.

“all of that stuff was when i was a kid. i grew up, okay? and the psych practice thing-- that had nothing to do with me. i’m just trying to get by. please. you have to understand, everything that happened when i was a kid? that was like a whole different person. i’m different, better, and i’d never pull shit like that again.”

it’s true, but maybe a bit more extreme than it should be. while mark has changed, its been more over methodology than actual habits.

(the only major difference between him now and his past self is probably just his improvement in covering up his tracks.)

“alright, can you just-- do you have any friends or other individuals who can verify where you were?”

“i-- i don’t know, maybe? why can’t you just ask the guy at the grocery store. i spent, like, ten minutes talking to the cashier about toothpaste and shit, they’d definitely remember me.”

“you’re forgetting that they’re a broke high school student who’s been running on less-than-minimal sleep for the past month. they can’t remember the face of literally anyone they saw even just last night, let alone last week. so that’s a no.”

“you can ask my neighbor-- i swear i bumped into her there around, like, ten or ten thirty or something. she’s kind of old too, but she’d remember me. probably. i hope. or even the-- the fucking guy i bumped into that told me the dairy aisle was in the wrong direction. i swear i’ve seen him around before, so he probably lives near me too. i don’t really know what else i can tell you.”

mark lets his head rest in his hands, temple throbbing in time with the creaking of the lamp.

it’s a little bit more calming, more bearable when he’s able to close his eyes and center himself back without the overwhelming thrumming of the light bulb or the two officers staring him down.

when he looks back up, there’s an unfamiliar but unreasonably gentle expression greeting him. for some odd reason, it feels an awful lot like they trust him.

not just for the case, but for everything.

perhaps for life in all of its entirety.

“is there-- have you all reached a verdict or something?”

donghyuck and yukhei exchange pointed looks, a familiarity to their weighted gazes that makes mark’s chest ache with something indescribable.

“we’ll get back to you on that.”

“oh? i’ll look forward to seeing you again, then.”

“i-- no, we probably won’t be seeing you in person again. not unless new evidence comes up.”

“so i’m in the clear?”

“i wouldn’t say that, but i wouldn’t say you’re _not_.”

“fuck, donghyuck, you don’t have to act all smart. just let the poor man know he’s free.” yukhei snorts, unbridled and wonderful. mark can feel his heart lurch.

mark blinks back at them, smile impossible to subdue, and basks in the warmth of their attention. it’s nice to feel so important, especially under the eyes of people who believe in his innocence and normalcy.

it’s good to be loved.

(well. maybe _loved_ is too strong of a word for whatever this whole situation is, but he’ll take what he can get, especially if it feels like this.)

“we’ll have one of the officers drive you back.” donghyuck hums. he looks upset, oddly enough, but what’s even stranger is that mark feels the same way. “take care, mister lee.”

“mark.” he corrects. donghyuck smiles.

when yukhei puts a hesitant hand on mark’s shoulder, guiding him out of the room with gentle murmurs, mark finds himself leaning into the touch. call him gay and touch-starved, so be it.

(he follows them outside and pretends their encounter felt normal.)

the car ride is even more silent than the one he had with yukhei and donghyuck, but it’s emptier this time around. thankfully, this cop doesn’t say anything or try much for conversation; mark doesn’t know how much he’d be able to respond with his head in the space that it’s in right now.

he steps back into the building, numb, and wonders why it feels like he’s missing something.

it’s not until he makes his way back to his room, ass slightly sore and legs still half asleep, that it occurs to him that he’s never felt so alive before.

he presses hard against his bed, pushing it towards his now-closed window, and shuffles around until he’s able to pull up a few of the floorboards and nudge them into the corner.

from there, he tugs out a worn out duffel bag, already dusty, and puts everything else back in its original place.

 

//

 

a few days later, close to a week, there’s a box placed right in the center of yukhei’s desk, nicely wrapped and shut beneath a bright bow. attached is a note, written in carefully-legible script, _officers yukhei & donghyuck, thank you for your time and generosity the other day. until next time! -mark xx _

donghyuck raises an eyebrow, skeptical eyes meeting yukhei’s own confused ones, but they both stay silent.

he tugs off the bow, pretending not to notice when donghyuck pockets the ribbon instead of throwing it out, and takes the lid off the box as gently as he can manage. inside are two smaller, identical boxes of dark velvet cases.

both donghyuck and yukhei take one, wordlessly, and pop open the lid.

donghyuck gasps.

inside of each case is one of two identical gorgeous, beautifully crafted gold watches. ornate details span the whole band and base of the watch, a row of tiny, glittering diamonds circling the clock face. it’s stunning, luxurious enough that just looking at it makes yukhei feel a whole social class higher.

and that’s the thing-- it’s _expensive_ , probably worth more than all of yukhei and donghyuck’s past apartments combined.

“i’m gonna pass out.” donghyuck breathes out, eyes glittering while he inspects each nook and cranny of the watch’s details. he holds it against his wrist, gold glowing against tan skin, and smiles. “hey, yukhei, honestly, how does it look?”

yukhei, though, finds his attention fixated elsewhere-- donghyuck only takes a moment before he’s peering over yukhei’s shoulder to figure out what it is that’s taken priority of his awareness. that’s when he finally spots the two crisp plane tickets, written for a month later to vancouver, canada. it leaves at nine in the morning, no layovers.

there’s no return ticket, no explanation.

they don’t need it.


End file.
